


Start with Goodbye, Stop with Hello

by TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Happy Ending, Heartbreak, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Inspired by Music, Not Beta Read, Pining, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Reunions, Use Your Words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26217214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG/pseuds/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG
Summary: It's all fine.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Other(s)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 163





	Start with Goodbye, Stop with Hello

**Author's Note:**

> After reading nothing but really fantastic Geraskier fics for literally days, this popped into my head and wouldn't leave me alone.

It's _fine_ , Jaskier thinks, as he goes back down the mountain. It really is, everything is fine, and he's _definitely_ not stumbling into the third bush within the last ten minutes because he can't really see the path through his tears.

Really, it's fine, _he_ is fine. Why wouldn't he be? Geralt has always been rude and taciturn, even with him, even after all this time, why should the things he said now be _any_ different?

If that were true, then why does he feel so different? Why does he feel like Geralt ripped his heart straight out of his chest and stomped on it, over and _over_ , grinding it into the dirt with every barbed word?

Probably because he's a melodramatic idiot, he thinks, and it's not half as bad as his bardic sensibilities are telling him.

It's _all_ fine.

* * *

Jaskier is very much _not_ fine.

After a truly miserable trek down that blasted mountain, he stumbles into the first inn he comes across, orders a rather embarrassing amount of ale, and then proceeds to get really quite sloshed. Drunk him then thinks it a splendid idea to drape himself all over the innkeep's tall, blond son, and when Jaskier wakes up the next day, he finds himself with a splitting headache, a mouth full of metaphorical wool, and said lad snoring softly in the bed beside him.

Jaskier is not fine, and he grabs his things and legs it, despite his brain trying to leak out of his ears.

He's running, and he's not sure what from, exactly.

* * *

Somehow, time passes, the sun keeps rising, and everything goes on as normal. Jaskier has known heartbreak before, he who gives too much of himself too easily, who falls in love on a whim quite often and falls out of it just as quickly, but this.

This is different.

He returns to Oxenfurt, of all places, and it's there that he realises he can't write any more. No music comes to him, none that he would want to play for an audience, anyway. All he hears in his head are songs of loss, of heartache, and he knows he's not going to be able to perform them for all the gold in the world.

He drops Toss A Coin entirely, and if his purse is a little lighter than before, that's just something he'll have to learn how to _deal_ with.

Oxenfurt means old acquaintances, old flames, and Jaskier spends a couple of months falling in and out of people's beds, growing increasingly miserable, until one day he's sitting in a tavern, moping into his drink, and someone grabs and twists his ear. Very rude, really.

He squawks indignantly, twisting with the pain, and the person lets go and laughs at him. "Who pissed in your porridge that you're making such a face, Jask?"

It's Essi, and Jaskier feels his mouth curve downward a moment before he bursts into tears.

She takes him back to her rooms, at a boarding house not far from the tavern, and Jaskier flops gracelessly down on her bed.

"I've been a fool, Essi, the greatest of fools. I've trailed after that Witcher for _years_ , and I thought we actually were something like friends. Partners, of a sort." He sighs deeply, and pulls a pillow over his face. "How could I have been so stupid?"

Essi sits next to him and pats his chest gently. "You've always had too much heart."

"Fat lot of good that did me, didn't it?"

"Well, his loss," she chirps, lying down beside him. "You're a good man, Jaskier, and if he can't see all that you've done for him, it's him who's the idiot. People still don't exactly _like_ Witchers, but you can't deny your songs have actually changed how they see them."

He tugs the pillow down, wrapping his arms around it to hug it to his chest. "They have, haven't they?" Essi hums, and he looks up at the ceiling, thinking. "I've tried writing more, you know. Since…" He can't say it, the words too heavy, and so he sings instead, softly, voice wavering only a little. " _Tell me your secrets, I'll ask you no questions / braving your mountaintop / When I'm around you, when I'm allowed to / taking my chances, I'd make a fortune / I'll love you, I'll love you - the darkest part of you / write you the sweetest song_ …" There's more, but he's choking on his words, his voice turning thick with unshed tears, and he trails off, blinking furiously.

Essi is watching him with wide eyes, he can see at the edge of his vision, and then she breathes, "Oh Jaskier," and then she's hugging him.

It still hurts, but it's a bittersweet sort of hurt, and he's not alone. That counts for something, at least.

* * *

He moves in with Essi after that, tries to get his feet back under him. He starts performing again, quiet, private events only, no rowdy taverns with people demanding Toss A Coin for him, thank you ever so much.

It's work, and it takes his mind off of his broken heart at least a little, so it's fine.

He winters in the city, like he has done so many times before, and it feels almost normal, and when spring comes, he packs his bags and sets out on the road again.

"I need to stretch my legs," he tells Essi, and she hugs him and tells him to guard his heart a little better in the future. Jaskier laughs, and promises that he will, and they both know he probably won't be able to.

Being back on the road again feels good, with nothing but the open sky above him, and he finds himself composing things that are not _just_ sad and angry.

He almost feels like himself again.

Before he knows it, he's back in Kaedwen, not far from where he first met Geralt, and the pain comes back like a ton of bricks.

What was he thinking, really, they've known each other for nigh on 20 years, is it a surprise that there are memories of his Witcher spread all over the bloody continent?

And then Jaskier steps into an inn, in a tiny village close to Vengerberg (and isn't that another kick in the teeth all on its own), and there he is.

Geralt.

Jaskier turns on his heel and all but runs. Screw having a roof over his head for the night, screw making some coin. He can't do this. He was a bloody fool, because that's what he is, always has been, it's really no surprise to anyone.

And then he hears Geralt calling his name, and he stops dead in his tracks, rooted to the spot as though by magic, and who knows, maybe that's what's happening, maybe it's Yrden keeping him in place-

"Jaskier," Geralt says, directly behind him, and then there's a large hand on his shoulder, turning him around gently, and his heart drops into his stomach.

He's never seen that look on Geralt's face before. On anybody else, it would be a look of mild indigestion, and maybe that's not too far off, emotional indigestion perhaps, because if he had to describe what could put that look on the Witcher's face, he would say the man looks almost contrite.

Which… can't be.

Geralt's hand is still on his shoulder, and Jaskier shakes himself out of his shock. He steps back and the hand falls away. "Geralt! Fancy seeing you here. It's _such_ a small world, isn't it?" His voice is too high, falsely cheerful, and he winces. "Don't let me keep you," he continues, steps aside and gestures at the road. "I'm sure you have many important Witcher things to do."

Geralt is still looking at him, then he says, "Hm."

"Really, do go on, I was just passing through myself," and he adjusts the strap of his bag, forces a smile onto his face. He's fidgeting, and he knows his discomfort must be an almost palpable thing to the Witcher and his enhanced senses.

"Where are you headed," Geralt asks, instead of walking away, and Jaskier shrugs.

"Oh, don't worry about me, I'll stay out of your way," and he chuckles, a tight, forced sound.

"That's not why I asked," Geralt replies, and there's… something about him that Jaskier can't quite put into words. "I'm going south, towards the Yaruga," he offers, shifts his weight in a manner that would be a sign of nervousness on a regular human. "You ever been?"

Jaskier opens his mouth, closes it again. "No," he says at length, "not that I recall."

"I wouldn't mind the company," and _fuck him sideways_ , is Geralt actually asking him to come along?

"I…" He knows he's staring, and Geralt shifts on his feet again, and Jaskier knows there's only one way this is going to end.

Geralt has a room at the inn, and after a very quiet and uncomfortable supper during which Jaskier wonders if maybe he has fallen prey to some Fey and is actually lying in a meadow somewhere, hallucinating all of this, they go upstairs. There's only one bed, naturally, Geralt didn't plan for company as far as Jaskier knows, and he pulls his bedroll out of his pack.

There's a hand, suddenly, taking the roll from him, and another at his back, pushing him towards the bed. "Take the bed, bard," Geralt rumbles, sending a tremble down Jaskier's spine, and when he opens his mouth to protest - it's Geralt's room, he paid for it with his hard-earned money, Jaskier couldn't possibly - the Witcher shakes his head. "I'm going to meditate, I can do that on the floor just as well." He turns away from Jaskier, shakes out the bedroll - Jaskier's, that is going to smell like Geralt tomorrow, _oh sweet Melitele have mercy_ \- and goes about readying himself for the night.

Jaskier stands in the middle of the room, clutching his pack to his chest, and wonders if this is what going mad feels like.

Later, when Jaskier has washed himself free of road dust and grime, by way of a basin of lukewarm water and a cloth, and has spent considerable energy on not staring too obviously as Geralt does the same, he crawls into the surprisingly comfortable bed, heaped high with furs. The fire has burned down low, the light just enough to make out Geralt's shape by the hearth, and Jaskier takes the opportunity to really look under cover of this near darkness. He knows that if Geralt were to look over at him, it wouldn't make a bit of difference to the Witcher with his cat's eyes, but he still feels safer like this, and so he looks.

There's a couple of new scars, one along the line of Geralt's jaw, another on his forearm, and one almost hidden beneath the white hair at the back of his neck, and Jaskier wonders what the stories behind them are. Maybe, if they actually travel together again, Geralt will tell him, if he's in a good mood.

He snorts indelicately before he can stop himself. Geralt shifts a little, as if trying to get more comfortable where he's sitting, cross legged, and Jaskier holds his breath for a long moment, before he rolls over, turns his back on Geralt, and tries to go to sleep.

He almost jumps out of his skin when Geralt says, "I wanted to… to apologise," and if Jaskier needed any more proof that he is, in fact, hallucinating his head off somewhere, here it is. Wouldn't be the strangest thing to have happened to him.

He waits for Geralt to continue, anyway, because what if this is really happening, but nothing more is forthcoming. Damnable Witcher. "What for," he asks softly after a while, and there is quiet shuffling behind his back as Geralt, presumably, turns to face him.

"The things I said. On the mountain. That was…" The Witcher grunts, his eloquence apparently deserting him already. Jaskier digs his fingers into the furs.

"Cruel," he breathes after a while, and Geralt makes a sound not unlike when someone punches him in the gut. Jaskier knows how that sounds.

"Hm."

He stares at the wall, his thoughts whirling, and after a while he says, "I thought… I thought we were friends, you know?" His voice is very quiet, very even, as he tries hard not to cry yet again. He has shed enough tears over the Witcher. "I know I somehow always manage to be there when things go bad, but…" His mouths twists, quite against his will, and he buries his face in his pillow.

The mattress dips behind him and his heart skips in his chest, and then there's that ridiculously large, warm hand on his shoulder again. "You _are_ my friend," Geralt says quietly, haltingly, and Jaskier shudders. "I don't have many, and I'm sorry, Jaskier."

He rolls onto his back so he can look up at Geralt, his eyes rather moist. "Apology accepted," he croaks after a long moment, and Geralt smiles.

Even in this half-dark, it's like the sun has risen over a hill. Geralt's eyes crinkle, softly, and his lips quirk up on one side, and Jaskier wants to write a whole song cycle for that expression alone.

He _really_ doesn't learn.

"Sleep, songbird," Geralt says, tucking the furs in around Jaskier a little tighter, and after hesitating for half a heartbeat, strokes a hand through Jaskier's hair. Jaskier makes a sound that is somewhere between a startled gasp and a moan, and he feels the blood rush to his face.

Geralt is still for a moment, then ruffles Jaskier's hair and stands up. "Good night," he rumbles, and Jaskier blinks up at him, dumbstruck.

He lies awake for a very, very long time, listening to the Witcher's even breathing, and hopes that if he has in fact fallen into a fairy ring, he'll never wake up again.

* * *

When he wakes up the next day, Geralt is still there, and as they break their fast over fresh bread, cheese and tiny, tart strawberries, he can't help but ask, "Is this real?"

Geralt lifts an eyebrow at him, obviously not comprehending his meaning, and Jaskier growls his frustration. "I mean, I know it's pointless to ask but are you real? I'm not imagining this?"

The Witcher's face softens ever so slightly, and then his hand is covering Jaskier's where he has it balled into a fist on the table. "I'm here," he rumbles, and squeezes his hand, and Jaskier kind of wants to cry.

Sentimental fool, is what he is.

They set out after that, just the way it used to be, with Geralt up on Roach's back (and Jaskier would be lying if he said he wasn't _extremely_ pleased when the horse greeted him with clear affection) and Jaskier walking beside them, idly strumming his lute, and Geralt doesn't complain about him mumbling snippets of song to himself even _once_.

It's glorious, and perfect, and Jaskier doesn't trust it, but he'll take it anyway, for however long it lasts.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, a song comes into his head that isn't entirely about heartbreak, and by the time they reach a little inn on the banks of the Yaruga a week later, he plays it for the first time, and after his performance Geralt buys him a drink and leads him upstairs to their room.

"Sing it again," Geralt says, before he kisses Jaskier, pushed against the door, and Jaskier can't remember a single verse.

" _Make_ me sing," he gasps, as Geralt kisses his way down his throat, and Geralt does.

* * *

_We'll start with goodbye, stop with hello_

_Breaking my heart cracking your code_

_Down in her lap, sat on her knee_

_Quivering tongue, flicker with unnamed_

_Love_

**Author's Note:**

> The song Jaskier sings for Essi is "[Coming Up Roses](https://youtu.be/wSMN7IG_2vo)", the titular song that appears at the end is "[Start with Goodbye, Stop with Hello](https://youtu.be/LtEGD1JcMOg)", both by the lovely Eliza Rickman, who deserves way more recognition than she gets.


End file.
